


The Golden Sandal

by Jolly Dark (kalima)



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalima/pseuds/Jolly%20Dark
Summary: In which Hercules learns a hard lesson in how to pleasure a woman





	The Golden Sandal

**Author's Note:**

> What follows in an excerpt from a true account of Omphale, the Amazon Queen and the Greek hero Hercules whom she purchased and kept as a slave for three years.
> 
> (Also I needed to get this off my computer in case I die and my son has to go through my document files.)

“It seems clear,” Omphale said, throwing a leg over Hercules head and rising from the couch with the grace of a true warrior, “that you do not wish to learn how to pleasure a woman.” She smoothed the folds of her kilt over her loins with long, strong fingers. “That was yet another pitiful attempt on your part and I will no longer tolerate such a pathetic lack of effort.”

She gestured to her guards who immediately grasped the mighty warrior by his powerful arms and dragged him from the too-soft bed of his nemesis. Though Hercules struggled furiously, these women were every bit his match; as tall as he and densely muscled. He told himself he was weak from lack of proper sustenance. After all, he was a warrior accustomed to great quantities of meat and wine and he’d had none of this since becoming enslaved to the Amazon whore. But the fact was, these women ate very little meat and still managed to hold him fast. One of them, tired of his foolishness, struck him a blow to the head. He stumbled and fell limp between the guards, his toes dragging the floor as they brought him to the table and bent him over the edge. They stretched him arms over his head, wrapped his wrists with leather, and then bound the trailing strips to the legs of the table. His legs were spread wide and similarly bound so that he found himself prostrate and unable to struggle further. 

With his head turned, cheek pressed flat to the marble surface, he could see Omphale removing her sandals with a smirk on her face that he ached to slap away. Ah, but such was not to be. The gods were punishing him and he knew he must endure whatever humiliations she had in store to pay for the crime he had committed. Still, it galled to be at the mercy of women – and such big women – much bigger than nature should permit. Women were supposed to be small and heavily veiled, in a house, weaving, not forcing him to weave! These women with their flashy muscles and long naked legs were an abomination, an obscenity. And yet, even now as he watched them moving in, flanking him, the nearness of those powerful legs, the smell of their sweat and their sex made his phallus tremble and stiffen. He was ashamed and intensely excited.

Omphale tossed one of the sandals aside and then hefted the other, feeling its weight, its suitability to her purpose. It was an ornate leather sandal, studded with gold. The long, sturdy strapping dangled and swung as she came toward him. She leaned down, looking into his eyes, still smiling. “You will learn many lessons in the arts of love, mighty hero of the Greeks, before your time here is through.” Then she moved around behind him where he could not see. He knew what was coming and yet nothing could prepare him for the shock as she laid the leather upon his arse. She beat his buttocks with the sandal until they glowed fiery red, never sparing the strength of her bow arm on his tender flesh. But mighty Hercules did not cry out, though his backside had never suffered so bitterly, not even when riding horses for days on end during his greatest campaigns.

Just as he thought he would not be able to bear it, when he must cry out or bite off his own tongue with the effort not to, she stopped. The cool air on his raw and trembling buttocks was an even greater torture. He lay across the table panting. One of the guardswomen laughed. “Look upon this your Highness. Your tender ministrations have caused our hero to become aroused. 

“Yes,” said the other peeking beneath the table, “he’s hugely erect.”

“Why Hercules,” Omphale said softly, reaching between his legs to run her hand slowly over the length of his cock. “Whatever are we going to do with you now?” She traced her fingers around the soft tip. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to put this anywhere it doesn’t belong. And I’m not through punishing you.”

He heard them giggling behind his back like naughty children, and then a scurry of movement as if they were searching for something. His anxiety became acute. His erection throbbed incessantly, mocking him.

Omphale appeared in the line of his vision again, naked now save for a large simulacrum of manhood in its glory. It was strapped around her loins, wide bands of leather cupping the cheeks of her buttocks to hold the thing secure. It looked huge, made of braided leather worn smooth and sleek by a great deal of use. His lips curled in disgust at the thought of these mockeries of feminine grace pleasuring each other with such a device.  
One of the guardswomen climbed onto the table, her naked buttocks resting on his outstretched arms as she spread her legs and pressed her woman’s lips into his face. The other crawled beneath the table, achingly close to his cock, which now pulsated wildly to the ever-increasing beat of his heart. Her breath caressed the tip. Omphale stretched herself over his back. He could feel her hard nipples pulling across his skin, and the vile imitation of a true man pounding against his thighs. Her powerful hands kneaded the muscles beneath his flesh, moving down until they caressed the cheeks of his arse. She slid her fingers into the crack and spread him wide. He gasped as her lips made themselves familiar, and then her tongue, kissing and licking that forbidden flesh, which previously had only been touched by other men. Greeks! Heroes and Warrior-Kings! But Omphale’s tongue was as strong and hard as the rest of her and pushed into the hole with a fierceness that went straight to his heart. He squirmed. A small moan escaped him. She was greasing up the aperture so as not to injure him. Why this kindness, he wondered. He would never be so kind was the situation reversed. 

Bitch! he thought. She is trying to emasculate me with gentleness. Never!

Still…the tongue was very nice, and her saliva better than the sheep fat and olive oil he and his comrades were accustomed to using. Mmmnnn…very pleasant. Why, he could almost feel the natural tightness of his sphincter begin to open up like a flower. And when she gently pushed one long finger into it he experienced a kind of relief, as if that finger had been the very thing he needed all along. She eased a second finger in, opening him up just a bit more, and the moan that escaped him was the pure ache of divine pleasure. He sighed in disappointment when she withdrew her digits, then fought down a wave of panic when he realized what that meant. The hard oily tip of the false phallus pressed to the rim of his bronze orifice, and the part of him that feared ultimate surrender gave one final struggle, a mighty roar of humiliation and rage – and that was the moment she plunged the leather rod into him. He cried out, but with unexpected joy. Oh, by the Gods of Mount Olympus, it felt soooogood! The woman beneath the table stroked the place between his testicles and his plugged anus as if she knew a man’s body like her own. Her mouth closed around his cock, wet and hot. He opened his eyes, alive to the terrible pleasure of it and saw the sight of labia opened, folds of soft brown around a slit, like a secret passage to a cavern the depths of which he would never fathom. “Lick it,” Omphale whispered softly, pumping with a slow and tender rhythm. He opened his mouth and reached out his tongue tentatively. 

“Here,” said the woman, touching a little bump, a flag of flesh that had popped out red and swollen. “Just here. Ah, that’s it. Now down a little and push your tongue inside. Now out again and here, here. A little faster. Ahhhh…that’s it.. Oh, yes mighty Hercules, there, there, like that…”

Beneath the table the woman sucked and sucked, fingers gripping his balls gently. Behind him the woman pushed slowly in and out. Before him the woman trembled and shook like an earthquake was rolling through the landscape of her cunt. He felt the pressure building in her and in him, the tight feeling in his balls right before, and the tight, full feeling of his rectum, and his tongue tense and hard, brushing rapidly over the slick engorged bit of flesh between her legs. A shuddering started in her belly that moved down to her clit and through his tongue and down his spine and into his arsehole and out his cock, shooting into the mouth of the woman beneath him so hard his legs didn’t stop shaking for hours after.

The next time Omphale unlaced her sandal, his phallus took immediate notice and begged like a dog on its hind legs for the bone she would throw. 

And this is how Hercules, hero of the Greeks, learned by way of a hard lesson, how to pleasure a woman and receive pleasure of it himself.


End file.
